To Bed a Beauty (Courtship Wars 2)

Roslyn’s smile turned to a wry grimace. “My feet hurt too much in these new slippers. Marcus insisted on funding completely new wardrobes for us all, and I had no time to break them in.”

“I noticed you haven’t spoken to the duke since the church service.”

The observation elicited a rueful sigh from Roslyn. She’d given Fanny an abbreviated recount of what had happened the night of the Cyprians’ ball, although leaving out the fact that she’d shared more than a kiss with the duke. “No, we haven’t spoken, but I must eventually, I suppose. Arden has demanded an explanation and threatened to tell Marcus if I don’t comply. He thinks I have betrayed his friend’s trust, which isn’t quite true, since when I attended the ball with you, Marcus had already granted us our legal independence from his guardianship and I was no longer technically his ward.”

“Why don’t you simply tell Arden the truth? Your motives were not so devious, after all.”

Roslyn laughed outright. “I doubt he would understand my desire to make Lord Haviland fall in love with me. And the less I have to do with the Duke of Arden the better.”

Her lips pursing in amusement, Fanny waved a hand airily down the sidelines. “Clearly not everyone feels the same as you do.”

Following her gaze, Roslyn saw Arden in conversation with a half dozen of the other wedding guests. Not surprisingly he was the center of attention-and not merely because he was a scion of the nobility. His magnetic, commanding presence drew the eye. That, along with a breathtaking virility, made every member of the female sex take notice.

“The ladies are obviously eager to shower him with attention,” Roslyn agreed.

“Not just the ladies,” Fanny countered. “The young bucks in London all try to mimic his sporting exploits. And he is well respected for his political views by the Whigs and many of the Tories as well. Arden takes his seat in the House of Lords quite seriously.”

She raised an eyebrow. That the duke was a sportsman was obvious, to judge by his well-muscled shoulders and limbs, but that he would be interested in governing the country did indeed surprise her.

Roslyn shook her head. “No doubt he is a perfect paragon, but he is a trifle too arrogant for my tastes. The night of the Cyprians’ ball, he clearly expected me to fall swooning at his feet.”

“Arrogant, perhaps, but handsome, you must admit,” Fanny prodded.

It was true, Roslyn thought, the duke was devastatingly handsome. His hair was dark blond, a rich shade of amber, and he had the aristocratic, beautifully carved features of a fallen angel.

But physical beauty had never impressed her much. Appearance had little to do with the true measure of a man. She herself had been misjudged far too often because of her looks, for many people automatically assumed she had no brains or substance of character.

Indeed, Roslyn had always seen her beauty as something of a curse. And she suspected Arden might have been subjected to a similar prejudice. With his dark gold hair, his lithe elegance, his polished address, he was the model of masculine perfection. Roslyn had to admit, however, that she found his sardonic smile more appealing than any of his other physical attributes, since it made him seem a little less perfect and more human.

Of course, she had experienced several of his other devastatingly masculine attributes firsthand. She could remember with startling vividness the hardness of his body, his magical hands, his hot, searching mouth…

Scolding herself, she sat up straighter in her chair. She had vowed to drive those erotic images from her memory and never dwell on them again.

Unquestionably, however, she wasn’t the only female here tonight to find Arden appealing. One of the most flirtatious and troublesome pupils at their academy, Miss Sybil Newstead, was gazing up at him admiringly-ogling him, in fact-and hanging on his every word. Yet when the girl brazenly reached out to touch the sleeve of his elegant coat, he slowly lifted an eyebrow and stared down at her clutching fingers until Sybil snatched her hand away.

At the deep flush staining her cheeks, Roslyn couldn’t help but smile at how his cool hauteur had depressed the little hussy’s pretensions.

“You should take note of her miscalculation, Roslyn,” Fanny remarked sagely. “There is an art to dealing with experienced noblemen of Arden’s stamp, and that bold young minx is an utter novice.”

“I am very much a novice also,” she said thoughtfully, “despite what you have tried to teach me.”

Fanny’s mouth curved in a teasing smile. “Perhaps you should ask the duke to advise you. If you could learn to attract a man like him, you can be sure the ploys would work on Lord Haviland.”

Her suggestion made Roslyn laugh again. “I cannot imagine the illustrious Duke of Arden sinking so low as to help me capture a husband.” Her friend was jesting, of course, although no doubt Arden could teach her more than a thing or two about the attributes he found desirable in a mistress.

She was precluded from further considering the possibility when her sister Lily joined them.

“Please, you have to save me,” Lily lamented, sinking into the seat next to Roslyn.

“Save you?”

“From Winifred’s infuriating attempts at matchmaking. I vow she is driving me to distraction.”

By Winifred, she meant Lady Freemantle, the patroness of their academy.

“What has she done that is so terrible?” Fanny asked curiously.

“She is set on throwing me at the Marquess of Claybourne.”